From Fire and Stone
by drwatsonn
Summary: "It was quite a shock, really, to find out that the Company of Thorin Oakenshield was still the Company, but in an unexpected way, and that my sister was in possession of the very thing that could destroy our two worlds. Me? I was just collateral damage, the thing that definitely should not have been there, but was, irrevocably." AU, post-BOFA. Thorin/OC Fili/OC.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **_All rights go to JRR Tolkien. Anything you don't recognize is mine._

**Summary: **_"__It was quite a shock, really, to find out that the Company of Thorin Oakenshield was still the Company, but in an unexpected way, and that my sister was in possession of the very thing that could destroy our two worlds. Me? I was just collateral damage, the thing that definitely should not have been there, but was, irrevocably." _AU, post-BOFA. Thorin/OC Fili/OC.

**Beginning A/N: **_Hello all, and welcome to the story! So, this isn't my first Hobbit fic, but I'm attempting something new here by writing in first person. Usually I'm opposed to these kinds of narratives, but I always like a challenge, so why not?_

_A few notes before we begin, however: right now, the rating is T, but if I decide to continue this, it just might get bumped up to M; yet that is all determinant on whether I continue this story, for I am currently writing that other fic. But this idea has been nagging me for **weeks, **so I finally just decided to sit down and write some of it. My second note is to say that if I do continue this, based on the response I get, then the first part will always begin as you see it here: with flashbacks to the Company's lives in the years following the reclamation of Erebor, and journal entries in italics. _

_But enough of me talking, right? On to the story!_

_Hope you enjoy!_

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><p><strong>Part I<strong>

**Fire**

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><p><em>"We, the Seven Fathers of the Dwarves, vow to protect our Homes and Kin with the Power <em>

_endowed to us by the Great Mahal. We call on this Power to Bless the Pillars_

_the World now stands upon, and we, the Lords of the Secret Stone, pledge ourselves_

_to this mighty Cause, and pass our blood to our Sons and Daughters after us,_

_to give them the Strength and Wisdom to uphold these Pillars and our Oath against the Fell Ones."_

The Oath of Tusâlh

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><p>Prologue<p>

**One Year Ago**

The northern wind seemed to be as biting and frigid as the jaws of death as Thorin Oakenshield hauled himself over yet another snow-covered boulder, the cold piercing his fingers painfully even through his fur-lined gloves as ice clung to his raven hair beneath his hood.

He clambered to the top of the ridge and immediately turned to help pull his oldest nephew over the boulder in their path, the blonde prince grinning slightly in thanks as his brother climbed up right behind him, grunting and cursing as he pulled himself over the boulder.

After them came Thorin's best lieutenant and one of his oldest friends, Dwalin, who didn't seem to be affected by the cold at all as he appeared over the boulder, and behind him came Dori, the strong dwarf clearing the ridge easily as he joined the group clustered at the top.

"Mahal, what a disparaging place," Kíli said in disgruntlement, staring around at the desolate landscape before them with a scowl as he stomped his boots into the thick layer of snow upon the ground to warm his feet. "And to think I always liked the snow."

"I'm sorry the place doesn't exactly appeal to you, princess," Fíli said, rolling his eyes as he shoved his younger brother's shoulder. "But we're here to do a job, not lounge about making snow-forts and chucking snowballs at each other."

"Fíli's right," Thorin said, speaking up before Kíli could retort something, already having experienced enough of the two princes' light-hearted bickering for the past month of traveling to tolerate any more. "We should press on while we still have light; the cave should not be far from here."

And without waiting for a reply, Thorin pulled his cloak tighter around himself and set off down the ridge, hearing Kíli grumble from behind him about the 'bloody cold' and 'too much damned snow' as he fell into step after his brother.

As much as Thorin agreed with his youngest nephew, however, they had more important things to do than complain about the weather; he figured the sun was already at its midpoint in the sky behind the swirls of perpetually grey clouds above them, which meant they were quickly running out of time if they wanted to get their task done that day. And considering the circumstances they were in, Thorin knew that his companions would agree with him that the sooner they got this over with, the better, for all their sakes.

The Northern Waste was a desolate, bleak landscape, stretching on for leagues in either direction as nothing but snow, ice, and jagged, black peaks; the air was constantly blurred from the shredding trails of ice, and the cold was so penetrating that Thorin had quite forgotten what it was like to be warm at this point.

Despite the despondency of the place, the band of dwarves had trudged along nonetheless, hiking over cliffs and scaling mountainsides in their journey through the wastelands, a hard and grueling experience, yet entirely necessary. They had taken an Oath after Erebor had been reclaimed, and now it was their duty to uphold that vow, no matter the cost.

After another hour of marching determinedly through the foot-high snows upon the ridge, the dwarves came to two high cliff faces spearing into the sky, two blank faces that stared unflinchingly and challengingly at the other across the gap that separated them, a darkened path that cut its way through the rocks and disappeared into a fog of icy vapor.

"Please don't tell me we're actually going into that ghastly place," Kíli groaned, before there was a muffled smack and a sharp "Oi!" of protest from the younger dwarf.

"Quit griping," Dwalin grumbled. "You're going to drive all of us mad if you don't shut it."

Kíli didn't reply, mumbling something incoherent under his breath instead, and Thorin felt a smirk twitch his lips; it may have been some years since the Quest for Erebor, but in some ways Kíli was still the same reckless, audacious dwarf who had set out from the Blue Mountains, whatever his new role in the kingdom or the slow but sure growth of his beard would tell otherwise.

"Come on," Thorin called over the strengthening wind. "If the Wizard's information is correct, the cave is just beyond this path."

The five dwarves entered the passage between the cliffs, and the sudden change in the weather was staggering; instead of ferocious, howling winds and stinging nettles of ice, the air became still and silent between the cliffs, creating an eerie contrast to the lands outside as the sound of their heavy footfalls were deadened by the snow upon the ground.

They passed through without incident, though Thorin's nerves had begun to prickle warningly the further they went, making him even more alert and wary than he already was. He reached a hand down and placed it on the hilt of his sword, Orcrist, drawing some comfort from the feel of the weapon, though he still felt as if invisible eyes were upon him, calculating and shrewd.

They emerged from the passageway cautiously, hands twitching toward their weapons as they faced another cliff directly before them, a gaping maw carved naturally into the stone, stalactites piercing downwards and looking like the fangs of some fearsome creature as the dwarves took it in.

"'The Fanged Brood,'" Dori said after a few moments, making a small _hrmph _noise. "Well, the old man wasn't exaggerating."

"It seems empty," Fíli remarked, narrowing his eyes as he stared into the cave opening, dark and depthless before them. "Are you sure this is the place?"

"What else could it be?" Kíli said sarcastically. "Valinor?"

"If it's empty, then that makes our job that much easier," Dwalin said, fingering the shaft of one of his massive battleaxes. "I say we go in, get what we need, and then run like the demons of the Void themselves are after us back out of here."

"We're not just _running _in there," Dori protested, crossing his arms. "We need a plan first—"

"Silence!" Thorin hissed suddenly, unsheathing his sword as a warning flare shot down his spine. His eyes raked the landscape quickly but sufficiently, the feeling building in his chest when he found nothing, but sensing otherwise. "We are being watched."

No sooner had he said it then a large tremble quaked the ground beneath their feet, and a vast shadow loomed behind them, the dwarves readying their weapons and whirling around quickly to see the exact object of their hunt towering over them upon the top of the cliff to their right.

It was a dragon, Thorin did not doubt this, as he took in the scaled body and reptilian eyes, gleaming brightly even from such a distance, a rippling mass of muscle and grey-skinned armor that unfurled into white-veined wings that spanned the passage of the cliffs themselves, though, he noted, it was not as large as Smaug had been, yet it stared down at the dwarves with an undisguised rage and savage pleasure even the Fire-drake could not have conjured.

Kíli swore in Khuzdûl from beside Thorin. "I thought Cold-drakes didn't have wings?" he said, fitting one of the Black Arrows in his quiver to his bowstring and looking up in disbelief at the dragon, as if offended it could fly.

Thorin said nothing, though he too wondered the same thing; this must be an old one, he thought, a remnant from an older Age, if not the First Age itself.

Before he had time to ponder any more on this, the dragon atop the cliff opened its mouth and roared, a high, shrieking noise that echoed around the barren landscape and clawed at Thorin's eardrums, making him grit his teeth as he sank into a battle stance, just as the dragon launched itself into the sky and then bore down on them with a terrible screech.

"Kíli!" Thorin shouted, as the dwarves scattered and dove to the ground, away from the dragon's reaching talons as Kíli aimed his bow at the dragon's heart and released the Arrow.

The dragon veered at the last second, tilting so the Arrow missed the softer scales of its underbelly, but the projectile tore through its wing instead, causing the dragon to roar in pain as the shaft punched through tendon and muscle, injuring it, but not mortally.

It crashed to the ground, its injured wing not being able to support it, claws scraping on the stone beneath the snow but managing to stay upright, just as Dori and Dwalin launched themselves at it, Dwalin slicing his axes across one of its legs, the mithril-imbued blades cutting easily through the scales.

Dori hefted his own axe and short, broad sword simultaneously, but before he could strike, the dragon lashed out with one of its other legs and swatted the grey-haired dwarf aside, sending him crashing into the cliff wall of the Brood behind them.

Thorin cursed as he ran for the dragon, Fíli joining in the fight as Kíli sprinted behind his uncle, readying another Arrow.

Thorin raised Orcrist as he charged, the old Elven blade glowing with the added magic of mithril and the new runes that bound the ancient power of the Black Arrows to the sword – the perfect weapon for slaying a dragon.

Kíli's next shot went straight into the dragon's eye as it swiped at Dwalin, causing it to rear and let out a bone-shuddering roar, and Thorin saw his opening and leaped forward, driving Orcrist into the dragon's exposed underbelly up to the hilt before, with some difficulty, slashing across the width of its body, stinking, acidic blood spurting out in arcs as Thorin yanked his sword out of the creature and stepped back, breathing hard.

Blood splattered the snow, crimson against white, and the dragon swayed before crashing down before Thorin, a reverberating tremble going through the earth as it struck. It struggled to push itself up, but to no avail, its injury too grave to remain upright, though its one uninjured eye locked onto Thorin with a rage that he could almost feel as he watched the dragon emotionlessly.

"Dwalin, go check on Dori," Thorin said coldly. "I can handle the beast from here."

Dwalin nodded, reluctantly turning and making for Dori's still form on the ground, and Thorin felt a small flicker of worry for the grey-haired dwarf before pushing it aside; Dori would be fine. But this dragon would not, and Thorin needed to work fast if he wanted any answers before it inevitably succumbed to its injuries and died.

"'The beast?'" It echoed, and Thorin raised an eyebrow as the dragon chuckled before him, coughing up more blood into the already copious pool it was lying in. "I think you have gotten the terms quite backward there, little _beastie."_

Thorin ignored the dragon's taunts, planting his blood-soaked sword tip in the ground as Fíli and Kíli watched from his shoulders.

"Do not presume to twist your spells in my ears, worm," he said stoically. "I know the magic dragons possess on their tongues, and it will not work on me."

"I see some little beastie has studied their lore," the dragon said silkily. "Well, then, what is it you desire, if your journey has led you to slay the likes of me? Gold? Jewels? For I have neither, little beastie."

"I neither need nor want riches," Thorin replied, staring into the pale, burning eye of the dragon while the other one bled and oozed some sort of pus. "I came for something else. A stone."

"Look around you, little beastie," the dragon drawled. "The very land is made of it. You should have no trouble there."

Thorin narrowed his eyes. "This is no mere rock, and you know this as well as I," he said. "It glows as red as flame, and burns more harshly than even the fires of Orodruin."

"Ah," the dragon wheezed. "So you search for one of the Pillars, then, little beastie, do you not?"

Thorin said nothing, knowing that the dragon had no need for an answer, and it seemed to realize this too, revealing its fangs in a grotesque image of a smile as it leered at him.

"Unfortunately, little beastie, I do not have such a thing," the dragon said, in a sickeningly false-sympathetic tone that made Thorin's jaw clench. "But what a treat it would be if I did.

"I have heard rumors about these Pillars, however," the dragon continued, its pale eye gleaming indulgently. "How the Seven Fathers of the Dwarves lost them in that dreadful war _ages _ago, and now you want them back before those _other _Hunters get them. After all, they are quite desirable from what I know, the key to unlocking the Lesser Void where so much ancient _magic _is stored, the antidote to heal this cursed world—"

"Enough," Thorin growled, his muscles tensing. "Tell me where the stone is, _snake,_ before I cut off your head."

"And why should I?" the dragon challenged, its eye sparking maliciously. "You're going to kill me, anyway, little beastie, so what is the use?"

"I will spare what little life you have left," Thorin offered, raising his brows. "We will leave you in peace to regenerate and heal, only if you tell me where the stone is."

"No deal, little beastie," the dragon snarled. "I know of your plans with those Pillars in your possession – you would have us all _killed_, every barrier of this world stripped away, because you do not know the true nature of those stones and what they can do, what they _will _do—"

"What are you talking about?" Thorin demanded, a flicker of panic and shock flitting through him before he squashed it.

"Finding those Pillars will not help your cause against the Darkness," the dragon crooned. "It will be this world's undoing, and the next. You have no idea what harbors in the Lesser Void, little beastie; magic beyond your mundane comprehension, power that would cause you to rip out your own heart and eat it in fear, your mind finally breaking—"

"It lies," Fíli interrupted, glaring down at the dragon in disgust as the creature sneered back at him. "Uncle, you know the nature of dragon-spell; they will try and seduce you to misguided paths and wretched ways, they cannot be trusted—"

"Yes, listen to your sweet bairn, little beastie," the dragon said. "But either way, the choice is yours; you can choose to believe that I am deceiving you, even as my innards stain the snow black, or you can heed my warning and keep away from those Pillars, lest you destroy everything."

Thorin hesitated, his mind whirling. This had been his goal for the last ten years, ever since the dragon Smaug had been defeated and Erebor had been reclaimed, his home restored, and he had become King under the Mountain. One year into his reign and Gandalf the Grey had returned after doing some Wizard business Mahal-knows-where, tossing an ancient, heavy tome between them and telling Thorin to read it. He had, of course, and that was when he had learned of the Hunters, the secret society the Seven Fathers of the Dwarves had created to combat the dragons of the world, his own ancestor, Durin I, being the founder of it.

That tome was what had started this whole journey about the dragons, the Pillars, _everything. _Ten years he had spent tracking down the seven Pillars the Fathers had created, racing against time to find them before the servants of the Enemy could; for even though the Battle of the Five Armies had been won by the Free Peoples and the Necromancer had fled Dol Guldur, the Evil was rising – and now this dragon was warning him of what finding the Pillars could unleash, that everything would be obliterated if they were uncovered.

In a way, he believed the dragon; after all, how could the Pillars have been lost all those centuries ago, and, more importantly, _why? _What could have prompted the Fathers to discard such an enormous power, something as vast and immense as to open a channel to the Lesser Void—?

"You are conflicted, little beastie," the dragon rasped, its breath beginning to rattle in its chest as it gazed at Thorin imploringly. "You cannot see the grave errors your ancestors have made by creating such abominations to darken our world, an abhorrence to taint all—"

But the dragon's voice cut off abruptly in a disgusting gurgle, as Fíli suddenly swung his sword down upon the beast's head, severing it in two strokes, and Thorin blinked, watching the pale eye dim as blood began to soak his boots.

Once his mind processed what had happened, Thorin took a step back from the blood encroaching upon his shoes, shaking his head as Kíli stared between the dragon and him in concern and Fíli walked over to him, flicking blood off his sword.

"Uncle," the blonde prince said worriedly. "I'm sorry; I know you didn't get the answers you wanted, but the dragon-spell, I could see it working on you, and—"

"You have nothing to apologize for, Fíli," Thorin said, holding up a hand to silence him. "You're right; I almost started to believe the creature, but your blade came at a very convenient time."

He smiled tightly at his eldest nephew, relieved that he grinned in return, albeit slightly ashamed for his behavior, recalling the gold-sickness he had succumbed to nearly a decade ago and shuddering at the memory; he was glad Fíli had done what he had, or else he didn't know what would have become of him if he was influenced by the dragon's spell.

"Well, if the dragon had any ward cast on the Brood, it should be gone now," Kíli said, avoiding stepping in the mass puddle of blood as he came to stand by the two older dwarves.

Fíli nodded. "Let's go check it out, then."

They left the decapitated body of the Cold-drake behind as they went to where Dwalin was bent over Dori, the latter lying upon the ground with a nasty bruise on his forehead from where he had struck the wall of rock.

"How is he?" Thorin asked concernedly, though he was relieved to see that the dwarf was breathing steadily as he knelt down beside them.

"He'll be fine," Dwalin said. "He's just out cold, is all; he must've hit pretty hard."

Thorin nodded, sighing out a tight breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and thanking Mahal for his friend's safety.

"I see the worm's dead," Dwalin continued, looking at Fíli and nodding his head in approval. "Well done, lad."

Fíli shrugged modestly, cleaning his blade off in the snow before sheathing it back in his scabbard as Thorin rose to his feet.

"Will you be all right to carry him?" he asked Dwalin, gesturing to Dori, and the bald warrior nodded, standing up and swinging the other dwarf over his shoulder easily. "Good. Because now we're entering the lair."

The four dwarves walked to the entrance of the Brood and stepped in cautiously; when no traps sprung and no curses were activated or anything, they entered deeper into the cave, Thorin stumbling over a torch that took him a few minutes to light before they dared to venture any further.

With the addition of the torchlight, the cave illuminated before them, revealing nothing too significant so far except for the slimy walls and nauseating reek that permeated the whole place, making Thorin's stomach churn the farther they went.

It wasn't until they reached the main horde of the dragon that they found anything, yet what lay before Thorin was much worse than he had been anticipating for such an isolated beast.

Instead of the mounds of gold and treasure Thorin had come to associate with dragons, after facing Smaug and several other dragons since, he quickly realized that this dragon had preferred mounds of something much more…morbid.

Piles of bones were hoarded into the center of the main chamber they had stumbled into, some old and dirty and bleached white, while others looked much more recent, still bearing flabs of skin and wisps of hair as Thorin passed the torch along the chamber, coughing slightly when he caught a glimpse of a maimed eyeball lolling out of a rotting skull before him.

"Well this is…nice," Kíli said, sounding like he was trying not to vomit as he gazed around the chamber with a squeamish expression. "I like what's been done to the place. Adds to that whole 'dark and vile' décor."

"These must be the bones of the Lossoth," Thorin said, his eyes wandering over the seemingly endless mass of remains. "They're the only people mad enough to live in this Mahal-forsaken realm."

"How are we supposed to find the stone in this?" Fíli said, crossing his arms and breathing pointedly out of his mouth to avoid the brunt of the smell. "It could be anywhere in here."

A sudden clatter of bones made the dwarves tense and draw their weapons again, glaring at the pile of skeletons before them as Thorin thrust his torch out farther to extend the light.

"Oh, this thing better not have any mini-dragons crawling around here," Kíli muttered, pulling his bowstring taut as he gazed at the pile warily.

"Who's there?" Thorin demanded, his deep baritone echoing threateningly around the chamber. "Show yourself!"

"Dead, dead, dead," a voice wheezed from the shadows, just beyond the edges of Thorin's torch, and the dwarf king's fingers tightened instinctively on his sword's grip as the voice chanted out of the darkness. "The dragon is dead, and I am the next, I am the next to die, die, die. And here is where we all die."

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><p><strong>Some Day After the Start<strong>

_I honestly have no idea what to do with a journal._

_I mean, I've never had any reason to keep up with one in my life, until I had gotten sucked into Middle-earth and Ori the Dwarf practically shoved it down my throat, saying it'd be beneficial for me, like therapy or something._

_And yeah, I did say 'Middle-earth' and 'Ori the Dwarf.' But we'll cross that bridge when we get to it._

_But for right now, I'll say a bit about myself, because the main character always has background information about themselves, right? And I guess from my point of view, I am the main character in this bizarre story._

_I was born the oldest, only one year older than my sister, Merina, and the only two children to our parents, Frank and Annalise Parra. I was given the name Drew, which I used to hate because I always thought it was a boy's name, but now I guess I'm cool with it; it's certainly different, to say the least._

_When this story truly starts, I'm eighteen, fresh out of high school and working three jobs a week to save up enough money for college; we'd always been a poorer family, and after the money spent on my mom's funeral when I was sixteen, we were basically broke, living paycheck to paycheck just for the necessities._

_I always used to resent my life for that, for never having enough money, and for my mom dying and leaving us with our dad. It wasn't like he was abusive or an alcoholic or anything, thank God, he just simply…stopped caring, after Mom died._

_I remember he always had this look to him, when he would come home late at night after closing the garage he worked at, covered in grease and smelling like rubber and machine oil, his face sagging and his eyes blinking slowly, as if defeat had been engrained into his very bones, resign to a doomed, dead-end life hanging from his shoulders. He always looked so beaten and worn, and, despite how awful this sounds, I found myself not caring right back at him by the time I was seventeen; after all, why waste my time on a man that hadn't said he loved me in over two years?_

_But in hindsight, I wish I had at least told Dad that I loved him one last time, before all of this crazy shit started happening. Maybe it could've changed something, brought about an outcome I wouldn't expect; but of course, only those who have lived through Hell reflect back on their lives like this, and, unfortunately, I count myself among those merry folk._

_And now you're probably sitting there thinking I'm a whiny teenage girl with daddy issues, only teasing at this "great adventure" I was thrust into. But I'm getting there, dear readers; just have patience._

_I'll start the true beginning of this story off by saying that as a kid, I had loved everything to do with Tolkien and Middle-earth. All of my copies of his books were battered and the spines would lay flat when I opened them, worn through so many years of use that even some of the pages in my copy of 'The Two Towers' were falling out._

_My favorite, ironically, was 'The Hobbit,' though. I mean, seriously, a quest to slay a freaking dragon and a giant war at the end? Man, that book is every pre-adolescent kid's dream. _

_While I was basically an obsessive fangirl (reinforced by my discovery of fan fiction when I was fourteen), my sister, while a great lover of the books, also, was more of a casual fan; perhaps she would've been an all-out geek like me, if she hadn't pledged her blood for the sake of dancing. Seriously, the way she talked about it and spent all hours of the day training for it, you'd think she had signed her soul away for it – and to this day, I still believe she did. Or, at least a part of it, anyway, for the other… Never mind._

_Looking back on it, I wish we had never gone to Middle-earth (granted, at the time we didn't really have a choice). It wasn't anything I had believed it to be at all._

_For this quest wasn't all sunshine and journeying through the Wild; it was dark, and terrifying, and dangerous, a downright tragedy in the end, if I'm being honest._

_It was quite a shock, really, to find out that the Company of Thorin Oakenshield was still the Company, but in an unexpected way, and that my sister was in possession of the very thing that could destroy our two worlds. Me? I was just collateral damage, the thing that definitely should not have been there, but was, irrevocably._

_And that, my dear readers, is where this story begins its proper foundations._

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><p><span><strong>Ending Author's Note<strong>

_Tusâlh - _(Khuzdûl); lit. "the hunters"

Apologies for the slow start; but, trying to keep that elusiveness and all that before we truly get started.

In case you didn't notice, canon does not strictly apply to this story; after all, most dragons are extinct by the time the events of the Third Age take place, and, obviously, the Seven Fathers of the Dwarves were not actually dragon hunters - in fact, I think Morgoth didn't create the first dragon until after their deaths, but I could be totally wrong.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed it! Depending on the response this story gets, I'll decide whether to continue it or not. So if there's anything you'd like to say in a review, whether it be encouragement or constructive criticism, please do not hesitate! I love reviews and responding to you guys!

Thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 1: Cosplayers Stole My Sister

**Disclaimer: **_All rights go to JRR Tolkien. Anything you don't recognize is mine._

**Quick A/N: **_Hello, and welcome back! I was graciously surprised to see the response this fic had gotten, so I am deciding to continue it, though updates may not be the best, and for that I apologize in advance. But I really am starting to like this story, and I hope you all will, as well! As you can see also, I have *ahem* bumped up the rating of this to M, also..._

**Much thanks to my reviewers camomila3, CrazyFanGirl18 (Guest), and my other two Guest reviewers! Also thanks to everyone who has favorited and followed, as well!**

_And now on to the official first chapter! Enjoy!_

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><p><strong>Part I<strong>

**Fire**

* * *

><p>Chapter One: Cosplayers Stole My Sister<p>

**One Year Ago**

The eerie voice that chanted out of the darkness echoed around the cave, making Thorin's muscles coil with tension under his heavy winter attire, and there was a mad little giggle that emanated from behind the pile of bones, as the voice continued with its morbid cantillate.

"Dead, dead, _dead," _it intoned. "We've all come to die, a merry little gathering before the end, end, end—"

"Come out!" Thorin commanded sharply, ignoring the sense of _wrongness _that was inching down his spine. "Bring yourself forth."

A pause, and then shuffling footsteps could be heard as a figure emerged from behind the pile of bones, stepping into the light and blinking hard, raising a gnarled hand as if he had confronted the sun—and he might have, Thorin realized, if he had been in here as long as his appearance suggested.

It was a Man, from his obvious height and stature, despite his shoulders slumping and his torso seeming to fold in on itself, giving him the impression of a hunchback, as his skin glowed milky pale in the light and stretched disturbingly over his pointed bones. A matted mass of silver hair hung around his sallow, dark-eyed face, and Thorin felt a twinge of sympathy for the Man, wondering how long he had been a prisoner in here.

"What is your name?" he asked the blinking Man, still stern, though he tried to tone down his authoritative 'growl,' as Balin described it.

It took the Man a long time to answer, eventually bringing down his arm as he grew more accustomed to the light and looking up at Thorin with an eerily blank expression, as if pondering his answer.

"Bráli," he rasped after a long moment. "I-I think it was…Bráli." He looked uncertain when he said it, and Thorin lowered his sword slightly, pity poking at him insistently, though he still kept a fair view on any danger this Man might pose.

"Are you one of the Lossoth?" Thorin questioned, and when the Man looked confused, he offered, "The Snowmen of the Forodwaith?"

"N-no," the Man said, shaking his head rapidly. "I'm a Dwarf; I'm a Dwarf."

The four dwarves shared a skeptical look before Thorin turned back to him, deciding to humor him for the sake of getting some answers. "And, um…what kingdom do you hail from?"

"Erebor," the Man said without hesitation, his hollow eyes brightening as he said it. "I'm from Erebor, but that…" And suddenly he frowned, looking deeply troubled again. "That was a very long time ago, I think."

"What are you doing in here, then?" Kíli asked bluntly, and Thorin sighed out his nose; his youngest nephew had many admirable traits, but unfortunately, those did not extend to tact or subtlety.

The Man did not speak, staring past the dwarves with a peculiar expression on his face, as if he was haunted by something yet couldn't exactly remember what.

"I…I don't know," he said quietly. "I-I remember…a stone…"

Thorin's heart stuttered in his chest. "A stone?" he repeated, trying to keep the eagerness from lacing his tone. "What kind of stone?"

The Man mumbled something, furrowing his brows in frustration, and all Thorin made out was the word, "Red…" before the Man spoke once more, sounding agitated, "I don't know. I don't remember."

"Well, do you remember what it was called?" Thorin pressed. "The Firestone, the Redstone, the _Ursel'aban—?"_

"I know that name," the Man said abruptly, his hollow eyes flashing with a spark of familiarity. "Firestone…I _know _that…"

"What do you know of it?" Thorin said intently, taking a step forward urgently, but immediately retreating when the Man flinched at his movement.

But at these words, the Man's face suddenly changed, twisting into a malevolent sneer as he fixed his glittering dark gaze on Thorin, causing a shiver to run down the dwarf king's spine at the look.

"I know that _she _had it," he said. "She _stole _it from me. She tried to hide it, but I told her, I said to her: "There are some things you cannot bury, Annalise, because some things always find a way to come back and haunt you." I told her that, and she didn't _listen…"_

The Man's lip curled over his teeth, and his pale skin seemed to be turning redder as Thorin and the others looked on in growing alarm and confusion.

"Who is Annalise?" Thorin said, and the Man's head snapped up at the name, his nostrils flaring. "You mentioned that name earlier, about the woman you spoke to. Who is she?"

"Someone long since dead to me," he snarled, and Thorin blinked, taken aback. He was becoming increasingly unnerved by this Man, who had seemed helpless and confused at first, but was becoming more and more hostile, and potentially dangerous, and Thorin's fingers grasped his sword hilt more tightly.

"Sounds like someone's real fond of her," Kíli muttered under his breath, and Thorin threw him a dark glare, shutting the brunet up at the withering look.

"And this Annalise," he said cautiously, watching warily as the Man's fingers jerked by his sides, alternating between curling into fists and splaying out, though fortunately making no move to strike or anything in his agitated state – yet.

"Where would she be?" he continued. "You mentioned earlier that she stole the stone from you, and we…we can help you get it back."

Thorin could feel the others giving him incredulous looks to his back, but he ignored them; if he wanted this Man to talk, gaining his trust would be much more advantageous than just coercing the information out of him another way.

The Man—Bráli, Thorin reminded himself—looked at him warily, his hands still twitching as he said, "There is no way it can be done. It is impossible to obtain now."

"And why is that?" he asked.

"Because…it's in another world," he whispered conspiratorially, his eyes skirting around the cave, as if afraid of being overheard, and Thorin gave him a blank look, not impressed.

"And why would it be there?" he questioned sarcastically. "Such things do not exist."

"Then you are brainless if you believe that," the Man spat. "It may only be accessible through the strongest of magic, but it exists, and you are a fool for scoffing at your own ignorance."

Thorin bristled, taking a step forward, but the Man suddenly let out a manic, high-pitched giggle, stopping the dwarf king in his tracks as his eyes glazed over once more and he continued to laugh, the chilling sound resonating through the cave.

"Fool, fool, fool," he wheezed. "A tiny, little fool. Fools we all are, and fools we will all die together as; dead, dead, _dead…"_

"He's mad," Fíli said, staring at the laughing Man with unease and some concern. "Completely mad."

No one responded, for at that moment, the Man doubled over, his laughs becoming hacking coughs as he collapsed to the floor, his thin frame shaking as droplets of blood began to drip from his mouth onto the stone.

Thorin cursed, handing off his torch to Dwalin's free hand before jumping down into the midst of all the piles of bones, striding over to the Man and kneeling down, though he kept a tight grip on his sword as he did so.

"What's happening to him?" Kíli asked, as him and Fíli joined their uncle, watching the emaciated figure cough up more blood below them. "And what's that?"

Thorin looked from the growing puddle of blood issuing from the Man's mouth and instead followed where his youngest nephew's finger was pointing at the Man's right shoulder blade.

His ragged, ill-fitting tunic had slipped from his shoulder, exposing his pale, stretched flesh to the air, and Thorin's eyes alighted on a mark Kíli had indicated; on closer inspection, it looked like a brand, a fine white scar that would have been easily missed if it were not so puckered due to exposure, and the more Thorin looked, the more the mark became familiar to him – but surely it could not be…?

"It's a raven," Fíli suddenly gasped, his eyes wide. "B – but there's only one marking like that in all of Middle-earth, and he's a Man…"

"Then he was telling the truth, after all," Thorin said grimly, his mind coming to only one possible conclusion. "Somehow, this Man is of Erebor."

Before that could sink in, the Man's hand suddenly shot out and grasped Thorin's forearm in a surprisingly strong grip, and the dwarf king started, raising his sword as his nephews did the same, but stopping when he spoke hoarsely, blood leaking between his teeth.

"Vagnur…" He choked out. "The stones…find them. Find the stones, or – or – "

But he did not finish, for then he gave a tremendous shudder and went slack, curling into a feeble position on the ground as he breathed out one last time, and did not move again.

There was a deathly, pressing silence in the cave, but Thorin's heart was racing madly in his chest; this Man, this _Man, _had somehow known of the stones they were seeking, had the raven brand of Erebor's sigil burned onto his person, and he knew who Vagnur was…

"He knew of Vagnur," Thorin said into the silence, and everyone in the cave looked to him, the same apprehension and bewilderment showing on their faces that he was feeling. "He _knew _of him."

"But Vagnur is dead," Fíli said uncertainly. "He has to be; he'd be over five hundred years old by now, and that's impossible; no Dwarf can live that long."

"Aye," Thorin said, his mind spinning as he nodded slowly. "And he _is_ dead. But this means that the dragon was right."

He looked around at them all, meeting their puzzled gazes one by one before saying, "Someone else has taken Vagnur's place, which means that there _are _other Hunters out there, looking for the Pillars, as well. The Black Order has been re-established, which means they know of our purpose and seek to beat us to the stones."

The dwarves all exchanged uneasy glances, until Fíli said, "And what about him?" He gestured to the dead Man on the ground, looking around at all of them beseechingly. "He said he knew where one of the stones was, but in a different world… Could it be possible, though? Is there actually another world out there besides this one?"

There was an even more pronounced silence, no one knowing what to say; a simple dragon slaying had just become a lot more complicated, and Thorin wasn't entirely sure of what to think anymore, though he could only see one person being able to help them with what they had just learned…

"We make for Erebor immediately," Thorin said, lurching to his feet and meeting the others' gazes evenly, save for Dori, who was still unconscious over Dwalin's shoulder. "We need to tell Gandalf and the others that we have a possible new lead."

* * *

><p><em>The day this story starts was a day just like any other: hot, humid, and bright, the high Texas sun scorching the landscape and pretty much baking me alive in my house as I had watched my sister bring down boxes of old stuff she had found in the attic a few days earlier, sucking down a glass of water to try and stem the heat. <em>

_Our air conditioner had gone out at the most inconvenient time, right when summer break had started, and we didn't have the money to fix it at the time, so our only salvation was opening every window in the house in the futile hope of tempting a breeze – which, of course, there wasn't._

_I had never realized that that day, which had seemed so normal at first, would be the day that everything would change. Granted, this tale goes way far back, before the time when my family was even a thought of creation in the universe, but that was the day that this whole mess had started for my sister and me._

_Oh, the sweet memory of it. _

_Even now, some years later, I remember every detail of it. After all, it was kind of hard to forget my sister being chased and kidnapped by midgets – or, as I later learned – dwarves that were supposed to be from a fictional story…_

* * *

><p><strong>Drew<strong>

"I think I'm having a heat stroke," I said, breathing out exaggeratedly as I finished gulping down yet another glass of water, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand and earning an exasperated look from my sister as she descended the attic ladder with another dusty cardboard box in her hands.

"Stop complaining," Merina said, setting the box down on top of the four others she had removed from the attic and waving a hand in front of her face from the dispersed dust they emitted. "At least you weren't crawling around up there; it's like a million degrees in that space."

"Now who's complaining?" I taunted, grinning when she rolled her eyes.

"Just help me load these in the car," she said, gesturing to the boxes. "I said I'd be at the pawn shop in an hour so I can work with the broker on determining what to sell out of here."

"Will do," I said, raising my empty glass in a cheer. "But make it quick; I have work at four and Dad won't be home until ten, at least. I'd hate for you to get stuck there."

I gave her a falsely sympathetic look, but she ignored me, turning back to the task at hand. "Don't worry, I'll be done by then," she replied, before looking down at the box she had just come down with and frowning.

"That's weird," she said, her brows scrunching, and I walked over to her, looking back and forth between her and the box in amusement.

"Well, you see, what you have there is what we call a _box – "_

"I know what a box is, asshole," she interrupted, rolling her eyes again. "I just don't remember seeing _this _box when I was up there on Wednesday."

"Then open it," I said. "I mean, if it's more of Mom's stuff…"

I trailed off, my sarcasm ebbing a little when I thought of these boxes and what they contained; everything that hadn't been special or sentimental to our mom had been put into these boxes and placed in the attic, a literal way of trying to shove the hole she had left in our family to the back of our minds for the past three years since her death. It was taking us just now to finally determine that it was no use to have all of her miscellaneous items clogging up space we needed to use, and, on a more depressing note, we needed the extra money some of her stuff could bring us.

The only reason we agreed to do it was because this was the unvalued stuff Mom hadn't held dear; her favorite books, favorite blankets and dresses and clothes and jewelry, all of that would stay here, but everything else was either going to the pawn shop or given to charity, just like she had wanted.

Merina nodded, biting her lip and seeming to steel herself before opening the box and peering inside, her troubled frown becoming deeper the longer she looked.

"What is it?" I asked, cramming in to get a better look before stopping, confusion tugging at me. "Um…another box?"

There was nothing else inside of the box except for another nice, lacquered black-wood box, small compared to the cardboard one it had been enclosed in, and I looked up to meet Merina's gaze, my own bewilderment reflected back at me.

She reached in hesitantly and drew the box out, holding it steady in her hands as she examined it.

"What do you think it is?" she asked, and I shrugged.

"Guess we won't know until you open it," I replied, and she nodded, flipping open the lid and revealing a velvet-lined interior, on which sat the biggest freaking _rock _I had ever seen.

"Oh my God," Merina breathed, staring down at what I now noticed to be a necklace, if the fine silver chain wasn't anything to go by. "I never knew she had this."

"Whoa, that thing's like the size of freaking _Kansas," _I said, reaching out to touch it before Merina swatted my hand away, instead opting to stare at it in awe.

The red jewel hanging from the chain had to be a ruby, from the vivid crimson of the stone, but instead of a glittering, faceted surface, it looked like it had the illusion of flames twisting inside of it, but I figured it was only from the way the light was hitting it. It was obviously finely crafted and expensive, yet I never recalled seeing Mom wear it, not even once.

"Why would this be in the attic?" Merina said, sounding slightly offended. "There's no way we're selling this; this should be in her jewelry collection."

"Well, it was up there for a reason," I pointed out. "But if you want to keep it, be my guest."

She nodded vaguely, picking it up carefully by the stone and taking it out of the box, letting it shimmer in her hand as she turned it over in her fingers.

"It's like a feather," she said in surprise. "Here, hold it."

She handed it off to me, and, being careful not to drop it or anything (which would definitely be something that I would do), I held it in my own palm and realized that she was right; it weighed next to nothing, despite its size, but the longer I held it, the hotter it got, though I attributed it to it being in that stuffy attic and the heat no doubt emanating from my own sweaty hands.

I gave it back to Merina, who took it reverently but then almost immediately dropped it back into the velvet box with a gasp.

"Holy shit!" she exclaimed, flapping her hand. "That thing was hot as hell!"

"Guess I just have that effect," I joked, shrugging, but Merina just closed the lid of the box carefully before looking back up to me.

"I'm going to put this in my room," she said. "Start the car and begin loading."

"What's the magic word?" I called to her back as she jogged up the stairs, and I heard a faint "Please and thank you!" as she walked into her room.

I smirked and walked into the tiny, cramped kitchen, depositing my empty glass into the sink, knowing it would drive my dad crazy but not really caring before grabbing my keys off the hook by the front door and going to start the car, a semi-decent Toyota with a dent in the bumper from when I had stumbled out of a party six months ago nearly blackout drunk and had accidentally backed up into a streetlight; needless to say, that had been a very interesting talk with Dad when I had to call him and tell him what had happened…

Ten minutes later, we were driving toward the center of our small town, Blair, Texas, the four other boxes loaded in the trunk and backseat, and I cranked the AC up to full blast, sighing when the cool air hit my face.

We were silent for the entirety of the car ride, which I didn't find weird; my sister and I had learned that companionable silence was better than making digs at each other and getting irritated, and Merina wasn't a very big talker to begin with, which was the exact opposite of me – I never knew when to shut up, except for when I was with her or Dad; though this last one made sense, as I don't even remember the last full conversation I had had with him.

There were a lot of ways me and Merina were different, though, but that was to be expected, really, as two separate individuals. She was quiet and thoughtful, while I was impulsive and loved to push people's buttons, and where she could usually be a cold-shouldered, easily irritable person, I liked to think of myself as more outgoing and friendly.

Even some of our physical aspects were different; my hair was dark and lanky, usually in a braid half the time, while she was the one who had inherited our mother's long, pretty brown curls, though we both shared the same olive skin and grey eyes, except mine were more silver while hers were darker, like storm clouds, that I always liked comparing to her look of "I've seen some shit in my life," though she never found it as amusing as I did.

I pulled up outside of the pawn shop in the empty back parking lot and helped her unload, leaving her to deal with the oily pawn broker that looked like he was still stuck in the eighties, with his mullet and black leather jacket, while I headed back out to the car.

I turned the key only halfway, leaving the AC off and instead rolling down the windows, not really wanting to do it because of the heat, but not wanting to waste all my gas, either, so I sucked it up and turned on the radio, plugging in my phone and choosing to blast some Zedd while I waited, leaning back in my seat and trying to imagine I was in Antarctica instead of the dead of a Texas summer.

I waited for an hour, becoming increasingly sweaty and disgusting as my thin T-shirt soaked through, and I wondered if I'd have time for a shower before heading to the grocery store where I worked on the weekends, one of my three jobs over the summer, as I went to check the time on my phone.

I had just sat up, reaching for my phone as my music quieted, signaling the end of the song, when a scream ripped through the still, muggy air, and I fumbled and dropped my phone, the device unplugging from the AUX cord entirely as I cursed and looked out the open passenger window, in the direction of where the pawn shop was.

What I saw gave me a heart attack, though it took me a solid few seconds to actually register what was happening before I acted; I saw Merina running toward the car, her face white and stricken, and I belatedly realized that she was the one I had heard scream as she sprinted across the asphalt, before my eyes slid beyond her and saw – two kids?

No, they couldn't be kids, I thought; they were too big and bulky and they had beards, before I took in their cloaks and boots and what looked like – _swords? _And a _bow? _– strapped on their persons, and then all sense of sanity left my mind as I realized my sister was being chased by cosplayers or something.

But all I could focus on was the look of fear on Merina's face as she screamed my name before one of the short guys caught up to her and yanked her back by her shirt, tossing her over his shoulder as she continued to yell my name and fight against the guy's hold on her as they began to turn and run away from the parking lot.

I didn't hesitate or even stop to think of the possible implications all of this would bring – I simply acted, and, stupidly, I looked back on later, got out of the car and sprinted after the costumed guys who were kidnapping my sister.

_I knew there was a reason Comic-Con always sketched me out…_

* * *

><p><span><strong>Author's Note<strong>

Well, things certainly become more complicated after the brief addition of Bráli, and the finding of this mysterious stone...

Anyway, I hope you all like the story and will continue to like it as we go on, and please feel free to review: anything you liked, disliked, are looking forward to? Let me know!

Thanks again, lovelies! Until next chapter...


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